


Thinking of You

by hannahberrie



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Banter, Feelings Realization, Fluff, M/M, Post Film, Romantic Tension, So much bickering, also just - you know, because they can't stop bickering, regular tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 20:49:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13888884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahberrie/pseuds/hannahberrie
Summary: "At first, Eddie isn’t quite sure what this other potential feeling is, because there’s no way that he could really be pleased about Richie showing up to annoy him. But sure enough, Eddie finds himself stupidly happy that Richie wants to spend time with him."or:Eddie's home alone on a rainy day, then Richie shows up.





	Thinking of You

**Author's Note:**

> For this one-shot, I was inspired by these lines from the novel:  
>  _Richie had about a dozen different voices. His ambition, he had told Eddie one rainy afternoon when they were in the little raftered room over the Kaspbrak garage reading Little Lulu comic books, was to become the world's greatest ventriloquist._  
>  Richie and Eddie? Reading comics book together? Rainy days? That's a one-shot waiting to happen. This story is set the fall after the events of the movie. This is my first Reddie/IT fanfic, so hopefully you'll enjoy it!

It’s a pretty cliché thing to say, but when it rains, it really does pour in Derry. The water comes down in thick sheets that flood the roads and storm drains. While the raindrops are cold, the air is warm, submerging the town in a thick fog. The wind howls so ferociously it almost sounds like a human scream. Lightning electrifies the cloudy sky, leaving behind veiny trails of crackling light.

 

Eddie doesn’t mind thunderstorms, not that much. Sure, they’re loud and threatening and his mom always throws a huge fit over him not standing to close to the windows or any power sockets, but today’s storm is different: his mom isn’t here.

 

It’s late fall, Saturday afternoon. Eddie’s tucked into the comfort and safety of his bed, flipping through a couple of comics. His mother left to run some errands in the morning and still isn’t back yet. Considering how flooded the streets currently are, Eddie suspects that she probably got rained in at either the pharmacy or grocery store.

 

Is it terrible that he’s not upset about this in the slightest? Even if it is, Eddie could care less. He’s just thrilled to finally have a day to himself for once—

 

—Until he doesn’t.

 

Sometime around noon, the doorbell rings — not just once, but like, a million times.

 

Eddie groans as he pulls himself out of bed. It has to be his mother. If the way she’s rapidly ringing the doorbell is any indication, she’s royally pissed off about something.

 

Eddie trudges downstairs to answer. As he approaches the door, the wind continues to howl, causing the floorboards to creak and the entire house to almost groan.

 

Eddie shudders a little as he grabs the door handle. Taking a shaky, rattling breath, he swings the door open.

 

To his surprise, the incessant doorbell-ringing is not due to his angry mother. It’s just Richie Tozier being an annoying asshole.

 

He’s nearly soaked to the bone. His hair is plastered to his forehead, his Freese’s t-shirt is clinging to his chest, and his glasses are dotted with water droplets. When his gaze lands on Eddie, his eyes gleam with mischief.

 

“Crikey! It’s raining cats and dogs out here!” Richie exclaims in a ridiculous British accent.

 

Eddie scowls as he crosses his arms over his chest. “What do you want?!”

 

“Just to spend a little time with you, Old Chap!” Richie says, still in the accent.

 

“Drop the British guy impression, idiot!” Eddie snaps, “It’s annoying.”

 

“Good!” Richie grins, and without further hesitation, pushes past Eddie and enters his house.

 

Eddie jumps out of the way as if Richie was covered in toxic sludge and not rainwater. “Don’t come in here!” He exclaims, “You’re soaking wet! You’re probably gonna catch a cold, or like pneumonia!”

 

“What’s ammonia?” Richie asks.

 

“ _Pneumonia!_ ” Eddie corrects, “It’s a disease, and you’re probably going to get it and then I’m gonna get it, and we’re both gonna die!”

 

“Sweet,” Richie grins, and with that, proceeds to shake the water off himself like a dog fresh from the bath. The water sprays everywhere, leaving fat droplets on the floor, walls, and Eddie himself.

 

Eddie wishes he could be surprised by this, but honestly, what else is he supposed to expect from Richie Tozier, the bane of his existence?

 

“Unbelievable,” Eddie grumbles as he shuts the front door. The house drops abruptly in volume as the shut door cuts off the wailing rain outside. For about 2 seconds, it’s actually quiet. And then—

 

“So!” Richie begins, already yammering away in another accent, an elderly man’s voice, “How about you come over here and give yer old man a hug, sonny?”

 

He holds out his arms to Eddie, still soaking wet and looking like he’d just taken a swim in the Quarry. There’s a couple of wet leaves plastered to his legs, and though they would normally be orange or red in color, the rain has left them brown and sickly-looking.

 

“Don’t touch me!” Eddie exclaims, taking a few steps back towards the wall, “You’re gonna get me sick!”

 

“Aw, c’mon!” Richie pouts, dropping both his arms and the voice, “You’re killing me, Eds!”

 

“I’m pretty sure that’s the pneumonia,” Eddie scoffs.

 

Richie throws his head back in a laugh. Though the action causes more water to fly everywhere, Eddie finds himself smiling proudly. There was something oddly satisfying about getting to make Richie laugh — it was like beating him at his own game.

 

That, and Richie kind of had a nice laugh, despite how obnoxious he was.

 

As Richie’s laughter dies down, he starts to glance around the house with a vague interest. “So, where’s Mrs. K?” He asks, pushing up his glasses as his gaze flits over the empty loveseat.

 

“She went to run some errands.”

 

“Oh, good. She’s gonna have to restock on some more condoms after last night.”

 

Eddie punches him in the arm with a scowl. “Shut up!”

 

Richie’s laughing again, but this one doesn’t sound nearly as nice. This one is driving Eddie up the fucking wall.

 

Eddie scans Richie with great disdain, gaze finally coming to a stop at the other boy’s legs. He takes note of three things. The first is that Richie’s wearing shorts, which is ridiculous because it’s October. The second is that since those leaves are clinging to his legs, Richie must have walked here — despite how flighty he could be, Eddie knows he wouldn’t risk rusting his bike in this weather.

 

The third, and perhaps most urgent of all is that Richie is leaving a huge puddle of water where he’s standing, and if Eddie doesn’t clean it up, his mother is going to have an aneurysm when she comes home.

 

“Come on,” Eddie huffs with an eye roll, “Let’s get you dry.”

 

“As dry as your mom’s—“

 

“ _Richie!_ ”

 

Richie gets another good laugh as the boys head into the bathroom. Eddie opens one of the cabinets and pulls out a couple of clean towels. Without so much as a warning, he grabs one of the towels and begins drying Richie off himself.

 

There’s a small voice in the back of Eddie’s mind that’s questioning his actions. After all, Richie’s more than capable of drying himself off, he doesn’t need Eddie to do it. Eddie continues anyway, silencing the voice by telling himself he’s just making sure the job gets done correctly.

 

He rubs the towel over Richie’s arms, sides, and legs. Halfway through, it gets so soaked that Eddie is forced to get a new towel. Richie is quiet during most of this, but if the wide smirk on his face is any indignation, he’s fighting back making some kind of dumb joke.

 

Eddie stands upright as he begins to towel-off Richie’s hair last. He tries to keep his gaze trained on the task at hand, but his eyes betray him as they move to look downward at Richie’s mischievous smile.

 

“What?” Eddie asks, suddenly feeling a little nervous. Their faces are so close, he realizes. He can see the yellow reflection of his sweater in the water droplets on Richie’s glasses.

 

“It’s just...” Richie begins slowly, and for a second, Eddie thinks he actually has something serious to say, “I wasn’t expecting to get such great over-the-clothes action from ya’, Eds.”

 

“Oh, god!” Eddie scowls, pulling back in annoyance, “You can finish yourself, Richie!”

 

“That’s how it normally ends,” Richie snickers.

 

Eddie balls his hands into fists before throwing up his hands in defeat. “I swear to fucking God!” He snaps bitterly.

 

Richie only continues to smile at him as he proceeds to finish drying himself off.

 

Eddie grabs another towel and storms over to the foyer, grumbling incoherent lamentations as he cleans up the puddle from earlier.

When he finishes, he stands up and turns to find that Richie, now just slightly damp, has been watching him for most of this.

 

“Nice work, Eds!” Richie says with an exaggerated niceness, leaning against the hallway wall, “You know, I think you have a really great future as a housekeeper!”

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Eddie mutters, returning to the bathroom to hang up the towel.

 

Richie follows him around like a shadow. A really annoying shadow that won’t stop talking.

 

“Tell me, Edward!” Richie says in a voice that resembles a vintage television announcer, “How does a young boy such as yourself spend a rainy day like today?”

 

“I was reading,” Eddie replies with a huff, fluffing out the towels as he hangs them up, “Until you showed up.”

 

“Reading?” Richie asks, dropping the accent as his curiosity evidently gets the better of him, “What?”

 

“Some comics.”

 

Richie’s eyes light up with excitement. “We should read some together, spaghetti-man! You know, just like we use to!”

 

‘How they used to,’ referred to when they were both about 9 or 10. Richie would come over to Eddie’s house, mainly in the summer, and the boys would spend all afternoon in the raftered room above Eddie’s garage. Richie would sometimes read the comics aloud to Eddie, picking out different voices for each of the characters.

 

The memory, though not that long ago, might as well have been a lifetime ago. It happened before this summer, the summer that left all summers before it slightly spoiled somehow. It was like the time one of Bill’s pens broke while he was trying to write: while the ink had mostly affected the front few pages, inky stains lurked at the corners of the rest, darkening the book in its entirety.

 

“I dunno,” Eddie frowns, glancing down at his feet, “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

 

“Please?!” Richie pleads, dropping to his knees in front of Eddie and clasping his hands together.

 

“You’re so fucking dramatic,” Eddie scoffs, yelping as Richie proceeds to hug his legs.

 

“It’ll be fun, Eds! Besides, the TV signals are all shit because of the storm, so it’s not like there’s anything better to do.”

 

“Is that why you came here?” Eddie asks, suddenly curious, “Because there was nothing to watch on TV?”

 

Richie pulls away from Eddie’s legs and rises to his feet, smiling teasingly. “No, I just wanted to see your cute face,” he replies, pinching Eddie’s cheek.

 

“Quit it!” Eddie frowns, swatting at Richie’s hand. He’s not sure whether to feel angry, because _Richie_ , or whether to feel...

 

...happy.

 

At first, Eddie isn’t quite sure what this other potential feeling is, because there’s _no way_ that he could really be pleased about Richie showing up to annoy him. But sure enough, Eddie finds himself stupidly happy that Richie wants to spend time with him.

 

“So, whaddaya say?” Richie asks, dropping his hand and looking at Eddie hopefully.

 

Eddie eyes him with reluctance. If he says no, that’ll probably just mean that Richie’s just going to follow him around for the rest of the day regardless. The living room wasn’t a very nice place to spend time in — it seemed to permanently reek of his mother’s perfume — and if they hung out in Eddie’s room, Richie would just poke around all of Eddie’s things and probably find something incriminating.

 

“Fine!” Eddie gives in, “But no more voices! It makes it too hard to read!”

 

“Aye, aye, Captain!” Richie replies, giving Eddie a mocking salute.

 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Just wait here,” he instructs. He proceeds to head up to his room and grab the stack of comic books he was reading earlier. Making sure to cradle the pile carefully, he goes downstairs and rejoins Richie in the hallway.

 

“Let’s go,” he huffs, jerking his head as a sign for Richie to follow him.

 

Richie complies, hurrying to walk beside Eddie as they head on their way. Eddie doesn’t know why Richie is so set on recreating old memories, but whatever.

 

“It’s pretty fucking cold in there,” Eddie grumbles as he leads Richie down through the hallways, “Just a warning.”

 

“Then I guess we’ll just have to keep each other warm,” Richie replies with an impish grin.

 

Eddie knows that Richie’s just being a dick, but the words still leave him feeling... _weird_.

 

‘Weird’ is the only word he can come up with to describe the way his cheeks start to feel warm, the way his stomach lurches, the way his heart skips a beat, and the way he nearly drops the stack of comic books.

 

Maybe he’s just starting to get sick. That would explain it.

 

Thankfully, his mind catches up to his mouth in time for him to snap back, “Yeah, I’ll just set you on fire, if I have to.”

 

Richie only laughs in response, and Eddie feels himself swell with pride once more. He guides Richie to the door that leads into the garage. Since Eddie’s arms are full of comics, Richie chivalrously steps forward to open the door for both of them.

 

“Ladies first!” Richie croons, motioning for Eddie to proceed.

 

Eddie rolls his eyes for what has to be the millionth time today as he nudges past Richie and enters the garage.

 

Unlike Bill’s garage, which feels packed to the brim with stuff, Eddie’s garage seems starkly empty in comparison. Eddie’s mother always parks her car in the street, except for in the winter time, but even if the car was there, the majority of the garage’s contents would still be packed away in haphazardly stacked, neatly labeled boxes. Sonia hardly ever leaves the comfort of the living room, so her clutter hasn’t managed to make its way here — not yet, anyway.

 

As Richie and Eddie enter, the sound of the pouring rain continues to drum against the roof. It echoes throughout the garage, somehow more intense and yet more muffled than it’d been inside the house. Thankfully, it isn’t as cold as Eddie predicted it to be, but it’s pretty close. His breath comes out in faint clouds and he can feel the hairs on his arm start to prickle.

 

Eddie leads Richie towards the raftered room that hangs over the garage. The room is only reached by climbing a ladder. It’s a difficult feat trying to climb the ladder with one hand while holding onto the comics with the other, but Eddie manages it well enough.

 

The room is a small space; Eddie can’t even stand at full height without hitting his head, but it’s also the coziest part of the entire garage (and house, arguably). Eddie’s mother graciously allowed Eddie to use the space as a fort of sorts, and consequently the room is adorned with whatever Eddie’s managed to scavenge throughout the years — quilts and pillows, books and comics, various tools in case he ever feels like tinkering with something. The space isn’t very well-lit, so the boys have to rely on a large camping lantern for light. 

 

The two boys situate themselves just as they always did when they used to come up here: lying on their stomachs, propped up on their elbows, an open book between them.

 

Their heads are ducked low together as they silently read through the pages. Richie, seated on the right side, takes upon the task of turning the pages.

 

There’s something about the way they’re lying beside each other — shoulders brushing, legs almost touching — that’s incredibly comfortable. Though the storm continues to pummel away above their heads, Eddie feels completely at ease.

 

 _It’s probably because Richie’s not talking,_ Eddie quickly tells himself, _That’s the only reason why you’re enjoying spending time with him._

 

As they continue to look through the comics together, Richie starts flipping through the pages more quickly. Before Eddie’s barely had time to read the first few panels, Richie’s already moving onto the next.

 

“Stop!” Eddie pleads, grabbing Richie’s hand.

 

“What?” Richie asks, glancing at their hands, and then Eddie.

 

“You’re reading too fast!” Eddie huffs. He moves Richie’s hand out of the way and flips back a couple of pages, returning to where he’d left off.

 

“I’m not reading,” Richie scoffs, “Just checking out the pictures. They’re not as good as the ones I found hidden in your mom’s underwear drawer the other day, but—“

 

“Shut up!” Eddie snaps, giving him a nudge, “You’re so fucking irritating!”

 

“If I’m so irritating, then why’d you invite me over?” Richie counters.

 

“I didn’t! You just showed up!”

 

“Oh. Right,” Richie laughs with great amusement, as if he’d just remembered this, “Well, still. Admit it Eds — you love having me around.”

 

Though Eddie can feel Richie’s gaze on him, he forces himself to keep his eyes trained on the comic book. “No I don’t,” Eddie grumbles.

 

A part of Eddie almost expects his nose to sprout like Pinocchio’s, but upon second thought, Eddie realizes how ridiculous that would be. Mainly because that wasn’t physically possible, but also because he _definitely_ doesn’t love having Richie Tozier around…

 

…Right?

 

He can still feel Richie’s gaze on him. It makes his skin prickle — or maybe that’s just because the garage is cold. Either way, Eddie feels the need to fully reiterate how much he _doesn’t_ like Richie, because it’s _definitely, completely_ true.

 

“You get on my nerves half of the time,” Eddie grouses, still not meeting Richie’s gaze.

 

“And what about the other half?” Richie smirks.

 

As Eddie stares down at the page, his cheeks start to feel a little warm again. “The other half is when you’re not around, Einstein.”

 

“Naw, I’m pretty sure you miss me even then,” Richie shrugs, “I think it’s even worse, actually. Face it, Eddie-bear: you’d be fucking lost without me.”

 

“You wish,” Eddie scoffs dismissively, “You seriously need to fucking get over yourself.”

 

Richie opens his mouth to snark something in reply, but he’s cut off by a sudden, resounding roll of thunder. It reverberates throughout the garage and makes the floor vibrate underneath them. It’s so powerfully loud and unprecedented, Eddie can’t help but yelp in surprise.

 

Richie also flinches but doesn’t make a squeaky sound like Eddie does. As suddenly as the thunderclap comes, it leaves, plunging the boys back into the ambiance of the falling rain.

 

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles, throwing Richie an embarrassed glance.

 

“You scared of a little thunder, Eds?” Richie remarks skeptically.

 

Eddie snorts. The idea of being able to be scared by something as insignificant as thunder is darkly amusing to him. Like he doesn’t have other things to be afraid of — no nightmares or memories, no relentless, nagging fears that it wasn’t over, that IT would come back at any moment, ready to finish what it’d started...

 

“I’m not scared of some stupid thunder,” Eddie states firmly, flipping to the next page, “It’s just loud.” He tries to focus his attention on the new page, but he can’t. He finds himself rereading the same words over and over, stuck on the same sentence, trapped within the catacomb of his own anxious thoughts.

 

A silence settles over the pair, but it isn’t like the one they’d shared when they were reading. This one is burdened with a tension so great it’s nearly palpable. Eddie can feel Richie’s limbs grow rigid, and when Eddie turns to glance at him, he notices that his entire face has stiffened too. His brow is furrowed as he bites down on his lower lip, looking frustratedly pensive. 

 

They’re both dwelling on the same thing: a brooding reflection on their own fears. This is only further confirmed when Richie finally decides to speak up.

 

“I still think about it sometimes,” Richie admits, “That fucking clown.”

 

“Me too,” Eddie mumbles.

 

“I know it’s gone, but…sometimes it feels like it never left, you know? Like it could come back.”

 

“It’s not coming back,” Eddie says with a surprising amount of firmness, “We killed it.”

 

“I know,” Richie mutters, “But still.”

 

 _But still._ Two words, simple and a little nonsensical, and yet they covered a wide breadth of emotion. It perfectly encapsulated the turmoil that kept Eddie awake at night. Yes, IT was gone, _but_ _still._ He could still be biding his time, still waiting until they thought they were safe, still keeping them all unaware until it was too late.

 

The idea causes an uneasy sense of danger to loom over Eddie like a storm cloud, and he instinctively slides closer to Richie for some sort of comfort. “I know what you mean,” Eddie mumbles.

 

Eddie slides closer to Richie until they’re quite literally attached at the hip. Richie smells like damp grass and cheap body spray, but something about the familiarity of it makes Eddie feel safer, even if it is kinda gross.

 

Richie doesn’t look back at him. His gaze is unfocused and distant, as if he’s still lost in his thoughts. The cloudiness of it almost reminds Eddie of when Beverly was stuck in her trance, and Eddie finds himself grow even more worried.

 

“Hey, Rich,” he mutters, nudging Richie gently. He needs Richie to look at him, _just to make sure._

 

Richie blinks before meeting Eddie’s gaze, looking somewhat startled. “What?”

 

“What are you thinking about?” Eddie asks, curiosity getting the better of him again.

 

“Stupid shit,” Richie replies quickly, though the bitter gravity to his voice clearly says otherwise.

 

“Tell me,” Eddie requests, staring him down _._

 

Richie hesitates for a moment further. Seeing him pause and worry over his words like this is so unnatural, so unsettling, Eddie briefly finds himself hoping that Richie will reply with some joke about Mrs. Kaspbrak.

 

No such luck.

 

“Remember when we first went to the house on Neibolt Street?” Richie begins.

 

 _As if he could ever forget_ , Eddie thinks as he nods.

 

“There was a moment, when you were gone, and…it pretended to be you,” Richie continues, “Or maybe it just had another version of you — I don’t know which. But it tried to lure me off on my own. It wanted me to follow after you.”

 

Eddie can’t help but feel greatly disturbed by this. The idea that another version of himself may have existed out there at some point, a twisted, cruel shell of himself, is so completely unsettling. “Why?” He asks quietly.

 

“I think it’s like with Bill and Georgie,” Richie theorizes, “It makes you see things you care about; that’s how it gets you. I’m just…I’m just real fucking happy that we got out, okay, Eds? I’d be…”

 

_Fucking lost without me._

 

Eddie nods understandingly, but then Richie’s words really hit him. Like, he hears them, but then he actually thinks about their meaning, and that Richie Fucking Tozier actually just voiced a heartfelt, genuine sentiment.

 

Eddie can hardly believe it. The shock of it settles over him, replacing the lingering worries with a newfound sense of awe.

 

“You care about me?” Eddie exclaims, eyes wide as he gapes at Richie.

 

Richie blinks back at him for a moment, as if he’d just realized the implications of his words. Eddie can practically hear the gears in his head turning as he tries to work up a reply.

 

For the entirety of this conversation, it’s as if they’d been stuck in a daze. A dazed storm cloud of dark thoughts and tense worries. But, as a few seconds pass and Richie’s face relaxes into his signature grin, it’s as if a bit of the storm has passed. They’re returning to their regular selves, the regular kids they still get the chance to be.

 

“Of course, I care about ya’, Eds!” Richie teases, “Who else am I gonna hang out with?”

 

“Uh, I dunno, maybe the rest of our friends?” Eddie snorts.

 

“Yeah, but they’re not as cute as you,” Richie smirks.

 

God, he’s back at it with the ‘cute’ again. The word sends off a spark within Eddie like a match to a firecracker. He can feel himself getting worked up again — it’s a little incredible how quickly Richie always manages to have this effect on him. 

 

“First of all, you idiot,” Eddie begins crossly, “Don’t call me cute. Second of all, are you telling me you only hang out with cute people? That’s stupid! What kind of lifestyle even is that?”

 

Eddie swears that Richie actually enjoys when Eddie yells at him. It’s the only explanation for the absurdly pleased look he gets on his face when Eddie finishes his mini-rant.

 

“It’s the best lifestyle, Eds!” Richie beams.

 

Eddie rolls his eyes and tries to return his attention to the comic book, which has nearly been forgotten by this point. As he does this, Richie drops the arms he’s been using to prop himself up and flops onto the floor. He rolls over so that he’s lying on his back and proceeds to inch perpendicularly towards Eddie. He comes to a stop with his head right on top of the comic book, his face directly under Eddie’s, turned up towards him with an impish grin.

 

Eddie has no clue what possesses him to do this, but he does know that Richie’s making it impossible for him to read. Plus, it’s irritating.

 

He’s angry about it. Definitely. Totally not happy whatsoever. He doesn’t care that Richie apparently cares about him, and he doesn’t care that Richie’s dumb, smiling face is only 6 or so inches away from his.

 

“Move your dumb head!” Eddie snaps, glaring down at Richie, “I can’t fucking read!”

 

“You can’t read?” Richie echoes, raising his eyebrows, “You should get some glasses then. Oooh! We could match!”

 

“I’d rather die.”

 

“Why? I’m a fashion icon, Eds.”

 

“You’re wearing shorts in fucking October.”

 

“And I look amazing,” Richie replies smugly.

 

As Eddie glares down at Richie, two thoughts pass through his mind.

 

The first thought: Richie does look amazing. Despite how peeved Eddie is, he can’t deny that there’s something so absurdly charming about Richie’s big dweeby glasses, his hair — a messy mop of dark curls and unkempt waves, and his freckles — smattered across his cheeks in an array as disorderly as Richie himself.

 

The second thought:

 

_I want to kiss him._

 

This second thought strikes Eddie without warning, without time for him to fully prepare for it. It’s as shocking and unnerving to him as if he’d just been overcome with the urge to jump off a cliff or chug a glass of grey water.

 

Oh god, he’s definitely getting sick. He probably has a head cold, or the fucking flu, or a brain tumor, or something. He can feel his body flush with heat as his mind starts to falter, leaving him increasingly light-headed.

 

“Y-you look,” Eddie stammers, “S-so…so…”

 

WHY can’t he think of an insult? Why isn’t his brain working? It’s like he’s forgotten every curse word in the English language, and it’s humiliating.

 

Richie’s brow furrows as he eyes Eddie confusedly. “You been hanging out with Bill lately?”

 

 _JESUS Richie, you’re a fucking idiot and you get on my nerves and can’t you just stop talking for once!?,_ Eddie’s mind screams, but his mouth is still hopelessly stammering along without a semblance of coherence.

 

“Shit, Eds, you broken?” Richie asks, lifting a finger to poke Eddie’s nose. The action, though small and insignificant, causes Eddie’s face to burn a bright pink as a tingling warmth radiates from where Richie touched him.

 

“Y-you….y-ou fu-fucking…”

 

As Eddie continues to sputter, Richie’s face suddenly darkens with concern.

 

“You’re not having an asthma attack, are you, Eddie?” Richie asks worriedly.

 

He’s not talking in one of his dumb voices, or making some joke about Eddie’s mom, or being a trash mouth. He’s just being _Richie._ Richie, who cares about Eddie. Richie, who walked off to face potential danger for Eddie. Richie, who Eddie can’t stand to be with or be without.

 

Eddie’s mind is an incoherent mess. He’s trying to force himself to look away, to shove Richie out of his sight, and yet _it’s not working._ All he can think about is _what if_ ’s and _but still_ ’s. What if they hadn’t survived this summer? What if he’d lost Richie? What if he never got to be called ‘Eds’ or ‘Eddie Spaghetti’ ever again? What if he never heard another stupid joke about his mom, or another even stupider accent? What if Richie had hung lifelessly suspended, like Bev almost had? Sure, Richie may be a big pain in the ass, _but still,_ he’s Eddie’s pain, and Eddie would be _fucking lost without him._

 

And that’s what does it.

 

Eddie takes in a deep gulp of air, leans in, and presses his lips right over Richie’s cheek. It’s all impulse — like he’s not even in control of his own motor functions anymore, but just pulled by an invisible, wavering thread. He’s not quite sure why he does this, but a part of him knows it’s just to solidify that Richie’s still really there, that he hasn’t lost him.

 

He’s just making sure.

 

It’s not much of a kiss — Eddie keeps it rigid and pulls back after only a second or two. He can feel his heart racing in his chest the entire time; the sound pounds in his ears and drowns out the sound of the rain.

 

He doesn’t want to look at Richie, he doesn’t want to see the teasing, wicked smirk Richie’s probably giving him right now.

 

He doesn’t want to, and yet he does. It’s like watching a horror movie or seeing a car crash — no matter how horrible the sight, the curiosity is far too alluring.

 

Eddie opens his eyes, ready to be laughed at, but to his surprise, Richie isn’t smirking at all. It’s kind of hard to read his reaction, actually. His eyes, already magnified by his coke-bottle glasses, are widened even larger than usual. The corners of his mouth are upturned in the smallest, most pleasantly contented of smiles.

 

Eddie blushes as he looks down at Richie shyly. He can feel himself start to smile too, and just as Richie’s opening his mouth to say something—

 

_“EDDIE!”_

 

The grating shout of his mother is distinctly audible even over the roar of the storm. Eddie can hear her as she walks around the house, calling out for him irritably.

 

“Shit!” Eddie pales, “You gotta go!”

 

“What?” Richie frowns.

 

“My mom’s back from the store!” Eddie hisses, “You gotta get out of here!”

 

“Why?” Richie pouts, “Your mom loves me!”

 

Eddie knows that’s highly debatable. Not only that, but he finds himself paranoid that if his mom sees that Richie’s here, she’ll just _know_ somehow. Like, she’ll take one look at the pair of them and Eddie’s confused, jumbled mess of emotions will be exposed to her like an x-ray.

 

“Please, Richie!” Eddie pleads, voice fraught with worry.

 

“Alright, alright!” Richie complies with an exaggerated sigh.

 

Eddie hastily scrambles to his feet and promptly proceeds to knock his head against the roof. “Fuck!” He groans, rubbing his head.

 

“Watch your step, Eddie!” Richie exclaims in his television announcer’s voice, “There’s danger afoot! Why, if you’re not careful—“

 

“Yeah, yeah!” Eddie interrupts, pushing Richie towards the ladder, “Just shut up and move!”

 

Richie grins as he descends the ladder. Eddie follows after him hastily, jaw clenched tight with worry. Any second now, his mom could walk in and they’d be totally busted.

 

Thankfully, the storm is still ferociously loud. The howling wind and sonorous thunder easily mask the sound of Eddie rolling back the garage door. The cold air beyond the door hits them like a smack to the face. The rain rushes into the garage, misting their faces and dampening the front of their clothes.

 

“Well, it’s been fun, Eds!” Richie says, offering Eddie another salute.

 

Eddie eyes the storm warily. He knows that Richie can’t stay, but that still doesn’t stop him from worrying about Richie’s safety. “You’re probably gonna get electrocuted!” He frowns.

 

“That’d be a blast!” Richie grins, and with that, he runs out into the storm.

 

Eddie shakes his head as he watches Richie leave. He’s not sure if it’s stupidity or tenacity, but either way, there’s something to be admired about Richie’s bravery.

 

Richie’s made it halfway across Eddie’s driveway when he suddenly stops and turns around. “Wait, Eddie!” He shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth.

 

“What?” Eddie shouts back, straining to be heard over the wind.

 

Richie dashes back towards him, completely soaked to the bone again. He reenters the garage and comes to a stop right in front of Eddie, hair dripping and body radiating with an unmistakable chill.

 

As Eddie gazes up at him, he can feel goosebumps break out all over his skin. _It’s because it’s cold outside,_ he tells himself, _That’s it._

 

Despite the water droplets collecting on Richie’s glasses, Eddie can’t miss the elated look in his eyes as he cups Eddie’s face, pulls him in, and plants a kiss on the side of his cheek.

 

His lips are firm and cold. His fingertips are like ice, and he’s getting Eddie covered in freezing rainwater. Half of Eddie can’t stand it. Half of him is mentally yammering on about _pneumonia_ and _brain-tumors_ and _getting electrocuted._

 

_And what about the other half?_

 

The other half wishes he could stay in this moment forever. The other half is that small whisper in the back of his mind, assuring him that there’s nothing wrong with this. That there’s something so completely _right_ about being close to Richie like this.

 

Eddie hears his breath hitch as Richie breaks the kiss, leaving Eddie spellbound.

 

Richie, still cupping Eddie’s cheeks, leans in close and whispers —

 

_“Now we’re even.”_

 

Eddie blinks back at him wordlessly. A million questions race through his mind all at once. Even? For what? What did that mean? What did ANY of this mean? Was this just another one of his jokes, another way to get inside his head?

 

But with that, Richie pulls away from Eddie, runs back into the rain, and doesn’t stop.

 

“Enjoy the ammonia!” Richie shouts over his shoulder.

 

 _Pneumonia, you idiot!_ Eddie thinks desperately, but as he’s still feeling quite flustered, he only manages to shout the last two words in response.

 

He could swear he hears Richie laugh, but the sound is quickly swallowed up by the thunderstorm. Richie keeps running until his lanky frame turns the street corner and disappears from view.

 

Even after Eddie closes the garage door, heads back inside, rattles off an excuse for why he’s so wet, gets a lecture from his mother, and finally retires to his room, he finds himself still thinking about Richie.

 

Richie would be thrilled if he knew that Eddie was missing him.

 

As Eddie lies back on his covers, returning to where the day began, he realizes with a faint smile that he might not completely mind if Richie knew it either.


End file.
